


Substitutions for Cigs

by PGT



Category: One Piece
Genre: Drug Withdrawal, Eventual Zosan, M/M, Oral Fixation, Smoking, eventual explicit tag, probably eventual zosanami but not sure so ill leave that hanging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-14 04:29:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18045497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PGT/pseuds/PGT
Summary: Sanji's quitting smoking cold turkey, not by his own will as his cigarettes have mysteriously gone missing with no islands to restock on in the near future. Zoro and Nami give the cook a hand with his withdrawal.





	Substitutions for Cigs

**Author's Note:**

> ADVANCE WARNING: I have never smoked and am so sorry if I'm butchering it. My knowledge of smoking comes from the smell and fictional characters alone.  
> If you're wondering where my other fic update is, please understand I have at least 15 wips I'm trying to finish and I will get to it, but am also constantly adding to that number...  
> Writing is hard.  
> Feel free to comment, I take requests at my tumblr Loyle-Trash ^^

Sanji would argue he is not a chain-smoker. He always has a cigarette in his mouth, sure, but they’re spent more through chewing than burning. He smokes, sure, packets a day, but it’s not something he’d consider a problem, had never been before.

When he noted that he’d pulled the last cigarette from the packet in his pocket, he didn’t feel that flit of anxiety running out might give someone. He didn’t roll the cigarette between his fingers cautiously before putting it between his lips. He didn’t neglect the tangerines he was juicing in favor of jogging down to the storage room to fetch another packet.

He didn’t feel a sinking sensation when there were none.

Because, surely they were somewhere. He’d misplaced them-- Zoro put them on the wrong shelf, they’d fallen into a corner in the last rough storm, it was really nothing to be worried about. But he didn’t find them on another shelf, or beneath or between the shelves or above the shelves as stupid as he felt peering at the ceiling for a miraculously floating missing box.

He felt the last stick crunch between his teeth, not realizing his jaw had clenched so tightly. He forced it to relax, squished the roll back into a roundish shape. He took a heavy breath, considered lighting the cigarette, but not wanting to without his next in hand.

When he left the storage room, Franky was the closest, Robin with him in his workshop. He prodded the door open after a warning knock, eyes flitting across the room as if he might find the missing storage under the cyborg’s mechanisms. 

“Not to interrupt, Robin-chwan,” He greeted her first with a warm smile before turning to Franky, who still twisted a hand drill against a wooden plank as he looked up to the doorway. “You steal my cigs?”

Franky frowned at the thinly veiled accusation, but shook his head. “Sorry, bro. Not really my thing.”

Sanji sighed, not having expected any less but still disappointed. He didn’t bother ask Robin, whose head was tilted sweetly. He waved back to her, murmuring dismissively as he closed the door again.

He wanted to scrounge the entire ship, top to bottom for his damn cigarettes, but it would have to wait, snacks were going to be late if he wasted any more time, and he’d left mikan rolling on the countertops. With a mild horror, he realized he’d left the stovetop on as well, cooking sausages for the boys.

He bound up the stairs two at a time, pleased to find the sausages hadn’t burned, and only a few fruit had rolled onto the floor in the rolling waves, their natural skins leaving no food wasted. He finished peeling, juicing and straining the juice, cutting the summer sausage into medallions and plating up with cheddar cheese and whole wheat crackers. With everything plated and poured, Sanji leaves the Galley, platter in one hand, drink tray in the other.

“Food’s up!” He howled, knowing no matter where Luffy was on the ship he’d be sure to hear it. He set the platter down on a table in the grassy clearing of Sunny’s deck and made his way to Nami sitting at her own shaded table. 

“Nami-swan, darling, would you have any idea where my cigarettes have gone?” Sanji dances up to the navigator, reclined in a sunning chair and offering her glass for the cook to refill. She can see him chewing on his lip between flattery and smiles, like he doesn’t know how to set his mouth without the rolled paper between his teeth.

“I can’t say I do, sorry,” Nami cooed, pressing the glass to her lips, hiding them with a small sip. “Maybe Chopper took them?”

Sanji grumbles something, almost as if he’s forgotten he’s in a lady’s presence. He seems to remember himself quickly, the scowl replaced with a charming grin and a flourish of arms as he thanks her for her advice. When he turns to walk to the infirmary, Nami notes that his happy persona dies off much closer than usual, shoulders hunching and fingers flicking irritably before he’s out of eyesight, something she knows the cook wouldn’t want her seeing.

She frowns, but reasons it can’t be helped.

After all, she had been the one to toss his cigarettes overboard.  
\---

The rest of the day, Sanji’s concern grew, and it didn’t go unnoticed by anyone among the crew, chief of all Zoro. He’d rather die than get near those stupid cancer sticks-- he didn’t know the science behind it but he knew it would just make him weaker in the long run to get into such a habit-- not like alcohol. 

So, it was fucking annoying when Sanji interrupted his stasis for a third time, first when he was training, and now twice when he was napping, to ask about his fucking missing cigarettes.

“Just fess up if you’ve got them, bastard,” He greeted with a kick to Zoro’s head, which he lazily dodged.

“Fuck off, Curly.” He was always interested in a fight, but having already scrapped with the cook after the second interrogation he was reluctant to break something on Franky’s ship twice in a day.

Though he still hadn’t opened his eyes, he could sense the cook’s growing frustration. He flicked his fingers, the sound reminiscent of a lighter. His sigh was deep, and he hadn’t stopped grumbling since he’d started investigating. He’d been listless, only giving up the search when he was too busy cooking meals for nine. When no immediate retaliation or reply came, Zoro glanced a one-eyed look at the cook, only to lose himself in a snort.

“What the hell,” he barked through the laugh, only for the cook’s glare to center back on Zoro, as it had been distant when he’d looked up. Zoro couldn’t have helped laughing if he’d tried, so caught off guard by the finger stuffed two joints deep into Sanji’s mouth, where he gnawed at it idly.

As if he’d only noticed by Zoro’s outburst, the cook pulled his hand away from his mouth, grimacing and digging in his pockets for something to wipe it off with. Zoro continued to laugh through his floundering, enjoying the red that tinged his pale ears and crawled up his neck.

“Shut up, bastard...” The insult didn’t have half the heart it usually did.

“You’re so fucked without a little stick in your mouth that you’re going to eat your own hand in less than a day, cook. It’s funny, I’ll laugh.”

He didn’t catch the wince he’d caused at the mention of self cannibalism, too busy blinking away tears.  
“I’m fine, it’d just be nice if whoever took them,” his tone made it clear he still thought it was Zoro, “was honest about it.”

“Why do you think it was me!” Zoro whined, not wanting to be the center of Sanji’s fixation. “Wouldn’t you go after Chopper?”

“Chopper would have said “It’s for your own good, Sanji!” not “I wish,” Marimo. He doesn’t have them.” Sanji pocketed his hands, but Zoro noted how he chewed his lip.

He didn’t have much more of a response than a grunt, and when the Cook didn’t leave, simply closed his eyes and readjusted his posture to return to his nap. 

“Free reign over the alcohol cabinet for two hours if you find them.”

He almost didn’t register the words, but jumped to his feet when he did.

“As much as I can take in two hours?”

“As much as you can drink, don’t be stupid,” Sanji rectified. It was still enough for a broad grin to creep over the swordsman’s face. 

“Done.”


End file.
